


Too Close For Comfort

by oceaxe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6253990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sequel" to House Booty Is Bad Booty. This is Harry's story - After seeing Draco perform an impromtpu striptease at a party, Harry decides to move in with him. But first he has to convince Draco that it's a good idea. Flangst ensues. Also, smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was such an old thought, the echo of a reflex, that at first Harry didn't even notice it was hovering on the edge of his consciousness. Only when he noticed he was exercising unusual care in selecting his clothes for the evening did he pause to wonder about the slight pull of anticipation on his senses.

He went about putting on his socks, his shoes, straightening his trousers, while refusing to put a name to the vague shape of his thoughts. As he looked in the mirror, he asked "Do I look good enough?" 

"For whom, dearie?" his mirror asked. 

_For Draco Malfoy._

_Oh._

He shook his head. Surely he wasn't really thinking about Malfoy as he dressed? Even if he were, it wasn't for the same reasons he used to think about Malfoy. That had been a long time ago, and many years past he'd laid to rest his suspicions about his sexuality. He was mostly straight. Mostly. For the most part.

If he was thinking of Malfoy, it was because he wanted Draco to see that he could dress himself, that he wasn't still a total buffoon after all these years. Malfoy would be expecting him to show up looking like a trainwreck of a human being- and he would saunter in, all casual elegance and savoir faire. _Did I just use the phrase savoir faire? Perhaps I'm not as straight as all that._

Well, at any rate it was perfectly normal that he be concerned with the way he looked. He wasn't about to confirm Malfoy's low expectations of him. And what did he care anyway? Getting all worked up over the fact that he was going to see where Malfoy lived for the first time. Letting old ghosts of attraction rear their shabby heads. So Malfoy had had a nice arse back at school. He'd probably gotten fat and lazy, the rich spoiled prat and dear god stop thinking about him!

 

* * *

 

"Ron!" Harry called from the front hall. Hermione's frizzy head poked around the corner and then the rest of her bustled up to him, pulling him into the living room.

"Ron's just taking a few minutes to compose himself," Hermione said, wryly.

"For what?"

"Well, you may have forgiven Malfoy for being such a git all the way through school, but you know Ron hasn't ever really dealt with that. He almost decided not to go to the stag night, just because -"

"Because Malfoy's throwing it?" He rolled his eyes. "But Ron and Nott are partners! He can't not _go_!" Slight hysteria colored Harry's voice. He couldn't go to this party if Ron didn't, couldn't go alone. For one thing, he didn't know Nott well enough.

And for some reason, he really _really_ wanted to go to this party.

"Relax, Harry, Ron's coming down in a moment. But I should tell you, you need to be nice to Malfoy."

Harry's stomach leaped a fraction of an inch. "What? Why?"

"Well, there are rumors… let's just say, I think he's having a hard time of it right now. I don't want to say too much, but. Well, just be nice. I think it's lovely that he's throwing a party for Theodore, even if it does put Ron in rather an awkward position."

"…Ooookay, I'll be 'nice.'"

"And don't let Ron hex him."

Harry laughed. "Can do."

Just then, Ron burst in. "Hex who?"

"No one, dear," Hermione said, tapping him on the nose. "You're to hex no one tonight."

"Not even Malfoy? Not even a little bit?" Ron pleaded. "I don't know how I'll make it through the night."

"I'll tell you how we're going to make it through the night - drugs and alcohol." Harry took Ron's arm and ushered him to the door.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, running after them. "No drugs! And no more than three drinks apiece! Any more than that is considered binge drinking!"

"Yes, mother," Harry and Ron chorused, looking at each other and snickering. 

They Apparated to the address Nott had given them.

 

* * *

 

"Blimey, I knew he was rich, but this is a bit much, don't you think? It's even more posh that it used to be!"

Harry just nodded. The Manor was a beautiful home, stately without being overstated, the kind of home he used to dream of living in, back when he was trapped in the Dursley's cardboard nightmare of a house.

The door was answered by an unusually ancient house-elf, who led them in without saying a word.

In the parlor, ranged around a gigantic fireplace large enough to hold Harry's kitchen, stood Theodore Nott, Terry Boot, Zacharias Smith, Michael Corner, Roger Davies, and a few others Harry didn't recognize. They all gave the new arrivals a cool once-over. Changed alliances aside, Ron and Harry were still Gryffindors, the last word in gauche.

Theodore stepped forward and shook Ron's hand. "Glad you could make it, Weasley. Potter," he nodded to them both. "Come, have a drink. We're just getting warmed up." He winked and started walking back to the group at the fireplace.

They joined the others and were welcomed, crystal tumblers of rare scotch pushed into their hands, cigars offered.

"So, what's to be the theme of this stag night, Teddy?" asked Michael Corner archly.

"Don't ask the hanged man," Malfoy drawled from the doorway. He leaned against the column flanking the opening, cool elegance in a silk shirt and tight Muggle trousers. Harry found himself waiting for Malfoy to walk in the room, to walk past him. _Still hoping for a glimpse of that arse, are you?_ His mind needled him. He brushed it off, assuring himself that he was simply being fashion conscious.

Malfoy sauntered in. "I'm throwing this soiree, and the theme of it is…" He paused for dramatic effect, then flung his arms in the air and announced, "Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll!"

This statement met with chuckles, several whoops of approval, and one or two blank looks. "Oh come on, Terry, I know you know what 'rock and roll' is, your mother was a Muggle-born," said Malfoy.

Harry's ears had pricked up at the start of that last word, instinctively expecting to hear a different string of letters after the "M." He felt a brief sense of unreality, noting how much the world had changed. Malfoy said "Muggle-born" as though he'd said it all his life, as though he'd never even imagined calling them anything else.

"Oh, he knows what rock and roll is, it's this 'sex' thing that's got him confused," said Smith with a sneer. It lacked malice, though, and Boot just laughed.

"No, actually, it's the drugs. And - wait a tick - Malfoy, how do you know anything about rock and roll?" Boot asked incredulously.

"Astoria's fitness instructor left his stereo when she sacked him. I've been listening to it while working out. I find it very inspiring. Notice the results?" He did a short pirouette that, to Harry's frustration, somehow managed to be manly and debonair. Several men whistled at him sarcastically and he acknowledged them with a rude hand gesture, looking mildly put out.

 _Your arse is like two firm scoops of heaven_ , Harry longed to call out. He almost burst out laughing as he imagined the response that would likely get. Ron looked at him funny, and Malfoy frowned.

"What?" Harry played off his suppressed laugh as a cough. "So, what have you been listening to?"

"I don't know, some of you Muggle-borns and Muggle-lovers can tell me. Come on into the lounge." 

Malfoy's lounge had clearly been Lucius Malfoy's study in years past, to judge by the dark paneling. Harry was struck by the defiance implied in the repurposing of the room. He knew that Malfoy had never wanted to be involved with the Death Eaters - that all his actions had been coerced - but somehow he still saw him adhering to the pureblood ways and honoring the memory of his father. However, there was a Muggle stereo prominently displayed on a minimalist sideboard, and mid-century furniture and modern art and no sign of dark artifacts or the Malfoy crest in sight. It was straight out of a high-class Muggle magazine, posh and pointedly unwizardly.

"So, where are the drugs?" asked Michael Corner.

"And the sex?" piped in an unfamiliar but hopeful voice.

"Let's start with the drugs," Malfoy drawled.

"There isn't going to be any sex, is there?" Nott asked resignedly.

"We'll just see how things progress," Malfoy replied, wryly. "Snidely, bring the party favors." The elderly house-elf appeared with a large salver containing an array of pills, potions and powders. It looked alarmingly decadent.

"Uh," started Harry, feeling very plebian, "you got any pot?"

"Do you mean marijuana? I'm unfamiliar with your degenerate slang," Malfoy said as he produced a joint seemingly from nowhere. He smiled as he handed it over to Harry. Harry suddenly felt lightheaded.

He and Draco traded the joint back and forth while Harry struggled not to mention how shocked he was that Draco smoked pot. Marijuana. Whatever. It felt strangely intimate to share this with him - not only was he altering his consciousness with his former rival, but he could feel the dampness of his saliva on the end of the fag.

After a few tokes he was flying high, barely noticing as Ron, Theodore and Michael snorted cocaine and started talking in exaggeratedly loud and boisterous voices. Malfoy rolled his eyes theatrically. "I can tell that was a mistake," he muttered to himself, clearly regretting his choice to provide the coke. Harry snickered in agreement.

They sat in strangely companionable silence, watching the others laugh, argue and make fools of themselves, until Malfoy shifted on the couch.

"I'm going to put some music on. Potter? Would you like to help pick something out?" Harry was about to say yes, when Ron jumped up and said, "I want to!" Malfoy wrinkled his nose but said, "Come along, Weasle..ly."

"Oi!" Ron chirped. "Call me 'Our King!'" He biffed the back of Draco's head and ambled over to the stereo, talking about how his father had gotten him one for Christmas a few years ago. Harry could hardly believe that Ron was getting along with Malfoy, until he remembered that chemically-enhanced goodwill was responsible.

He took a few more tokes and was getting pleasantly buzzed, thinking he just might enjoy this party after all. Harry realized he had zoned out for a moment or two, when his attention was drawn to the area by the stereo again.

Ron was laughing and dancing to some awful song - was that Kenny Loggins? - and Corner and Nott had meandered over, taking an interest either in the music or the technology or both. Nott challenged Ron's taste in music and Harry chuckled. Ron had abysmal taste, not he ever told him he thought so.

"Malfoy, do you have any Velvet Underground?" asked Nott with a superior sneer. Harry really didn't know how Ron put up with him, sneering and smirking all the time. Malfoy shrugged as if to say he didn't know or care, but Harry could tell that he was bothered that Nott knew more about Muggle music than he did. Purebloods could even be snobbish about things that were supposed to be beneath them. Fascinating. 

Nott apparently found what he was looking for, because "Waiting for My Man" started up, and Nott began lecturing Ron about how this song signified the worst excesses of Muggle culture but did so blah blah blah… Harry was relieved when Malfoy pronounced the song boring. He didn't think it was boring, but he didn't think he could bear to listen to Nott's pompous droning.

Malfoy had started up some Rolling Stones, and while it wasn't the hippest or most inspired choice possible, he supposed it had some merit. They were popular enough that even the more sheltered wizards had heard them. They'd even inspired some Wizarding musicians to imitate them (Stubby Boardman being a prime example), making their sound accessible, and so a couple of the guys in the room started openly enjoying the music. After a few more drinks, a few of them were dancing, though in rather a jocular fashion.

"Hah," Malfoy barked, looking over at Smith and Davies attempting to get down. "You ponces can't dance at all. You're an embarrassment to wizards everywhere."

"Well," drawled Nott challengingly. "Show us how it's done, then," he said, gesturing to the wide expanse of hardwood floor.

Malfoy tossed his hair back and looked around the room, smirking. "Alright. I'll show you sad bastards how a real man dances."

"Oh ho, so it's to be like that, is it?" said Corner, eyebrows raised.

"Like what?" Malfoy asked, at the same time as Nott said "Is there going to be a stripper?"

Cheers of approval turned to boos when Malfoy shook his head. "When I said 'sex, drugs and rock and roll', I mostly meant 'drugs and rock and roll.' I didn't think your betrothed would approve of actual sex at your stag night, _Theodore._ " Malfoy lingered on every syllable in his name, drawing it out. "Was I wrong?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

Nott rolled his eyes right back. "A stripper doesn't have sex with the blokes at the party, she just strips. You know, Draco, Slytherins have a reputation for debauchery. You're letting down the side quite dramatically."

Corner called out, "Hear hear!" and Ron loudly shouted, "Take it off!" Harry made a mental note to keep Ron well away from cocaine in the future.

Nott's eyes lit up. "Yes, that's a grand idea. Since you've cheated us of a stripper, I think you should entertain us."

This met with uncertain murmurs from half the crowd, enthusiastic cheers from the more drug-addled or horny, and a literal scream of approval from Ron. _Is there something Ron's not telling me about himself?_ Harry wondered idly.

He took another toke of the joint, and as he was setting it down noticed that Malfoy was approaching. Oh no. He wasn't going to dance for Harry, was he? A flicker of excitement burned through his veins, turning to confused disappointment when Malfoy merely snatched up the joint, inhaled deeply and then sauntered back to the crowd by the stereo.

"Make room, boys, I've got to pick out my song." Loud catcalls greeted Malfoy's announcement that he was taking up the gauntlet.

He fiddled with the stereo for a second, and then turned around looking smug. The starting notes of a familiar song filled the room, and Harry perked up. He knew this song - he'd gone through a period of listening to it over and over again at one point in his early twenties. It had an air of menacing, debauched sexuality that Harry had found very liberating.

Malfoy started bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, then did a little two-step, looking demurely at his feet as he danced. When he slowly raised his head, the illusion of demure stopped. He had a feral expression on his face, one that surprised Harry with the force of his reaction to it. He felt almost threatened, afraid of what Malfoy was going to do next.

Malfoy, still dancing - or strutting, actually - around the room, began unbuttoning his shirt slowly. There was no fumbling, just the steady slip of buttons through holes, and more and more smooth, pale skin revealed. The hooting and hollering in the room dimmed in Harry's ears. He'd smoked more than he thought he had, to be this disoriented.

"Who is this playing?" Nott asked. Ha, laughed Harry internally. Not so knowledgeable after all! Malfoy undid the last button, pulled the shirt apart and danced with his arms out, making wings of the shirt and mouthing, "I don't know" insolently.

"Iggy Pop," Harry said quietly, watching Malfoy's torso move rhythmically.

"Well I'm just a modern guy, of course I've had in the ear before," Malfoy mouthed along with the music, touching his ear but wiggling his hips suggestively. He took the shirt all the way off and balled it up, tossing it near where Harry sat. His fingers started working on the placket of his tight trousers, and Harry stopped breathing for a second. Was he…? Yes, he was. More catcalls rang around the room as he teasingly lowered his trousers, smoothing his hands over his arse and shimmying til the fabric hit the floor. He kicked them aside and continued dancing in nothing but his tight underpants, apparently lost in a world of his own.

Harry found himself openly gaping and tried to hide his response. If Malfoy were a woman dancing like this, half the room would be furtively wanking by now. Come to think of it, it looked like Smith have a hard-on. Harry's hand drifted towards his crotch as he watched Malfoy gyrate and bounce. _Holy shit. Smith's not the only one._

So. Not straight at all. At least, not where Draco Malfoy was concerned.

Harry quickly removed his hand from the vicinity of his now-hard cock. _Is this such a surprise, really?_ He asked himself. The answer, of course, was no.


	2. Chapter 2

Malfoy Scion and Wife Have Public Row, Divorce Papers Filed  
_Draco Malfoy, aged 27, and Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy, aged 25, were seen outside the infamous Louche, an establishment catering to gay wizards, on Sunday night. Sources say that the two were hurling invectives at each other, though no hexes were cast. The topic of the disagreement is unknown, but an anonymous informant at the Ministry was able to confirm that Mrs Greengrass-Malfoy's lawyer has filed papers requesting a dissolution of their marriage. The couple produced no heir in their five-year marriage, and according to pureblood custom such a marriage may be dissolved without the usual formalities. Mr. Malfoy, according to close friends, is contesting the divorce…_

"God, can't they just leave the poor man alone?" Harry exclaimed angrily, even while his stomach leapt at the thought of the divorce. _What, you think you stand a chance now?_ His mind commented sarcastically. _The papers are just being sensationalist, implying that he's gay._

"The papers are even implying that he's gay!" 

"Oh, Malfoy's divorce? Yes, it's sad. But of course they're implying that - it's been rumored for years that he cheats on Astoria with men."

"Rumored by who? To who? I never heard these rumors!"

"Why do you care so much?"

"Well, it's just… slander, isn't it?" Harry tried to hide his avid interest in whether or not Malfoy might be gay by working up some righteous anger. "These reporters just print any old slag against someone…"

"First of all, Harry, it's not a shameful thing, to be gay. It's attitudes like yours that keep gay wizards in the closet."

"I wasn't saying…."

"Second of all," Ron piped up from the next room, "Of course he's gay, look at him!"

 _I have_ , Harry thought wryly. _Many, many times._

"Ron! You can't judge a book by it's cover."

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, my little bookworm." Ron came over and nuzzled her ear affectionately.

"Hmph. I was saying, you can't tell by looking at someone whether they're gay or not."

"Aha, but I'm not talking about just about the way he looks, am I? It's the way he dresses, the way he talks, the way he moves, the way he smells…"

"You've noticed the way he smells?" This conversation was getting too surreal for Harry.

"'Course I have, he smells like a bloody cross between a flower shop and a candy shop, doesn't he?" Ron sounded as though this was a perfectly normal thing to know. "With something musky thrown in there, too," he mused.

Hermione and Harry just stared at Ron. "What? I happen to have an extra-sensitive sense of smell, on account of one of George's spells that backfired!" Ron protested. "And he got really close to me during that striptease," he muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

"Harry, can you take these invitations to the post?" Hermione asked frantically. This wedding planning business had taken its toll on his normally level-headed friend, and he was committed to doing anything to keep her from bursting into flames. "If they don't go out today, people won't have time to RSVP or reserve accomodations or…" 

"Shh, Hermione, relax, I'll take care of it." A thought occurred to Harry, one he was almost certain he shouldn't voice. "Did you invite Malfoy?" 

"What? No, of course I didn't. Why would I?"

"Um, no reason." And he really couldn't think of one, either. Unless…"Well, he is Theodore Nott's friend, and of course Nott will be there for Ron, right?"

"…Yes…" Hermione sounded unconvinced.

"Well, he'd be the only Slytherin there, unless you invited Malfoy. They're good friends, Malfoy held Nott's bachelor party -"

"I know," said Hermione exasperatedly. "I never hear the end of the bloody striptease! I swear, Ron's scarred for life. And he won't be the only Slytherin, I've invited Malcolm Baddock."

"That wanker? Well-" Harry floundered. "Also, though, there's that nasty divorce and it must have been so hard for him, I'll bet he feels excluded from society, and you know he and his mother did do an awful lot for us during the war…"

"And ignored us an awful lot after the war." Hermione stopped fussing with the invitations and turned to him. "Is there something you're not telling me?" she asked, fixing him with a piercing stare.

Harry jumped. "No! It's probably just… just my 'saving-people-thing.'" He attempted to sound self-effacing and accusing at the same time. Apparently, it worked.

"Oh, well," Hermione said, placatingly. "I guess it can't hurt. Here, wait a sec, I'll write out an invite." Harry tried and failed to hide his grin of triumph.

* * *

The day of the wedding arrived, and Harry's nerves were humming pleasantly. He told himself it was excitement at the prospect of seeing his best friends finally tie the knot. 

Hermione had wanted to mix wizard and muggle traditions, and muggle clothing was coming into style in the wizarding world, so the male wedding party wore tuxedos. Thus, Harry spent the whole wedding hoping he didn't look a right berk in his tuxedo. He'd been working out more, and had gotten his hair styled. He was feeling cautiously hopeful that he might just have attained 'moderately attractive,' if not 'drop dead gorgeous'.

Harry got a bit teary as Ron and Hermione exchanged vows and kissed. He even had a moment of fellow feeling with Molly Weasley, as he heard he loud sobs reverberate through the church. This was a huge moment in all their lives, and he just wished he had someone to share it with. Suddenly, he thought of Malfoy, wondering where he was sitting in the crowd and hoping that he couldn't see how sappily Harry was responding to the ceremony.

As he turned to follow the bride and groom out of the hall, he found himself scanning the crowd for Malfoy. His stomach lurched when he caught a glimpse of distinctive silvery hair, then fell when he realized it was Fleur. He mentally shrugged, figuring that he'd catch him at the reception. 

Except that he wasn't there, either. Feeling unaccountably restless and irritated, Harry proceeded to get embarrassingly drunk. At a certain point in the evening, grabbing Malcolm Baddock and giving him a blowjob in the gents had even seemed like a good idea. It hadn't been, though Malcolm had enjoyed it.

* * *

Harry stared at the back of Malfoy's head and knew he shouldn't have done this. First of all, it was highly unethical to use his privileges as an Unspeakable to locate someone, if it was unrelated to an investigation. Potentially, he could be sacked. Well, had he been anyone other than Harry Potter, sacking would have been a danger. As it was, if caught he'd just get a warning and a slap on the wrist. 

Secondly, it had reminded him uncomfortably of stalking a boy through the halls of Hogwarts with the map clutched in one hand, trying to deny to himself just how excited he was at the thought of catching Draco Malfoy out. 

And thirdly, he didn't even know what he was going to say, how he was supposed to interact with this man. Nott's party and the striptease therein had shaken a few screws loose in Harry's head. Everything he'd been denying for years came crashing down around his ears and now he knew he undeniably wanted Malfoy. Had done, for a long time.

Summoning the braver lions of his nature, he sauntered up to the bar and stood there, feeling Malfoy's presence radiate towards him. Before he could start having second thoughts, he ordered a drink. While he was slugging it back, Malfoy ordered a whiskey to keep company with the three empty glasses in front of him. Harry opened his mouth to say something and suddenly lost his nerve.

He backed off from the bar and seated himself some distance away, watching Malfoy drink. He seemed slightly clumsier - well, most people would be after four whiskeys. He also looked very sad. Harry found himself wanting to smooth the creases of his forehead. _Best way to do that is with a few jokes. Keep your hands to yourself, now._

He walked back to the bar and stood by Malfoy's left shoulder. "Hey, buy you a drink?" 

Draco craned his head around and squinted at him. "Potter?"

"I hope so, I'm wearing his underwear." 

Malfoy just looked confused by this witty rejoinder. _I need to watch fewer 80s comedies. Malfoy's not going get my clever references._

"Yeah, Malfoy," Harry confirmed. "It's me. Potter," he added, chuckling at how very obliviated Malfoy looked. “You look a bit plastered. Maybe we should get you some coffee?" He sat down next to Malfoy, hoping the other man was drunk enough not to object.

Predictably, Malfoy pretended he wasn't three sheets to the wind and accepted the drink, not the coffee. He asked, with a hint of paranoia in his voice, where Ron and Hermione were, and Harry reminded him that they were on their honeymoon. 

"They got married, Malfoy, didn't you get the invitation?" Harry rather hoped he hadn't, as that would explain his absence at the wedding. Malfoy claimed, however, to have gotten it. Well, it's not as if he had a real reason to attend, Harry reasoned. 

He made a joke about saving the bouquet for Malfoy and Malfoy actually laughed. And then thanked him for the drink! This was going spectacularly! Clearly, he just needed to keep the booze flowing and subtly interrogate Malfoy.

"So, where are you living now that Astoria's split?" _Ah, about as subtle as a brick through a window._

"Same place. She moved out," Malfoy replied, looking tense. "Good riddance," he muttered. 

Now Harry might be oblivious at times, but he wasn't a stupid man. He could tell Malfoy was more upset than he was letting on. 

"You sure about that?"

Harry nearly flinched at the cold look he received, but he wasn't an Unspeakable for nothing. 

"I'm doing fine, Potter," Malfoy replied mulishly.

 _You're looking fine, at any rate_ , Harry's mind commented. Harry ignored it. The ease with which he ignored his mind was probably the cause of many of his problems. 

"I'm sure." Harry replied sardonically. He paused and realized he'd run out of conversation. "So, that big house, all alone." 

"Yes. It's quite cozy, for a house with 14 bedrooms. You'd be surprised." Malfoy looked a bit less grim as he said this. Good, Harry's mission was working. He reminded Malfoy that he'd been to the house, not mentioning how very much the opposite of cozy it had been. 

Malfoy claimed not to have remembered, and tried to insult Harry. Luckily for him, he was perceptive enough to see that Malfoy was treating him as a friend, not genuinely being insulting. This almost made up for the disappointment Harry felt at the realization that Malfoy didn't remember him being at the party. Didn't remember stripping in front him.

"Theodore Nott's bachelor party. Don't think I've forgotten your striptease." _Because I haven't, not for an hour running since it happened._

"That was the drugs. I was tricked." Malfoy was clearly fighting off a smile. 

"If you say so." Harry said dubiously, making it clear that he didn't believe for a second that Malfoy wasn't a hopeless exhibitionist. Malfoy said that he only enjoyed it because he'd managed to freak Ron out, but Harry had seen that dancing. Malfoy liked to put on a show. Harry decided to shock Malfoy with his ability to freak Ron out as well.

"Well, Weasley's bachelor party was even worse than Nott's, let me tell you."

"Oh yes, tell me all about it!" Draco drawled.

"I hired him a stripper," Harry continued, unfazed by Malfoy's sarcasm.

"Yawn."

"A male stripper." There was a brief pause while the penny dropped. 

"You didn't!" Draco guffawed. Harry felt immensely proud of himself - he'd caused Malfoy to actually laugh out loud- not snicker, not chuckle, but laugh. He started to believe that he might be a good influence on Malfoy. 

They'd talked until the wee hours, and Harry had gotten Draco considerably drunker, and somewhere along the line Harry managed to get Malfoy to agree that living alone was only making him miserable, and that he should find a roommate. And then (taking courage from the way he was able to keep Malfoy laughing), he offered himself as a potential candidate. 

When Harry woke up the next morning, he instantly remembered that they'd agreed that he should move in. He couldn't wait.

* * *

Harry stood on the threshold of the Manor for what seemed like forever. Finally, the wizened old house-elf opened the door a crack and peered at him. 

"Hi, I'm, er…Mr. Malfoy's new roommate?" 

"Master Malfoy does not live in the manor. Master Malfoy lives in the coach house on the rear property."

"Ah." _He could have told me that._ Harry felt like an idiot standing here at the huge oak doors of the gigantic manor. "Can you take me to him?" 

"I will notify him of your presence." With a crack, the house-elf Apparated. Moments later, Harry heard non-house-elf footsteps striding towards him, around a path leading from the front doors to the grounds.

"Potter. You thought I lived here, all by myself?"

"Well, it's where you held the stag night," Harry said, feeling defensive.

"That's true," Malfoy said, looking vague.

"And you said your house had fourteen bedrooms," Harry said accusingly. 

"It does. The manor has thirty five." 

"Some coach house."

"It does get lonely. Where's your stuff?" Malfoy looked around, as if expecting to see piles of trunks and furniture hidden in the bushes.

Harry hefted his small box and his bag. "This is it."

Malfoy smirked at him. "Figures. Okay, then, come on back to the house. We'll pick out a bedroom for you."

They walked along the cobbled path and Harry took a moment (walking well behind to make sure Malfoy couldn't see him acting like a yokel) to gape in awe at his surroundings. He and Ron had come here in the evening and it was impressive enough. On a clear afternoon, this place was enchanting. _As is Malfoy's arse,_ Harry's mind piped up. 

As it turned out, the coach house was indeed cozy. Most of the fourteen bedrooms weren't actually in the house proper, but in a wing off to the side, and were used only when the Manor ran out of bedrooms. Since hardly anyone visited the manor these days, these extra rooms were dusty and stale-smelling. Malfoy pointed out the three, less dusty, rooms in the main house that were available. Cagily, Harry asked, "Which room's yours, then?"

"Going to make a mental note so you can rifle through my underthings?" Malfoy joked. 

_Too close to home._ Harry's mind supplied him with yet another image of Malfoy in nothing but his underthings, dancing to Iggy Pop.

"Ha ha. No, I'm just curious to see where you sleep. Nest of vipers, bat-perch, huge spider web - I've never seen a Slytherin's lair before." He grinned at Malfoy, urging him to take the bait.

Malfoy smirked at him. "Ha yourself. My quarters are slightly more elegant than a pit of vipers. Though there is, I grant you, a strong snake theme to the room. It's right here."

The door opened and Harry was taken aback. There was a snake theme, insofar as the circular mirror was framed by a beautiful silver ouroborous, and the bedspread had another giant ouroborous embroidered on it. But otherwise, the room was the exact opposite of his expectations. It was sunny and spacious and bright, not at all ostentatious or brooding. He couldn't see dark sex magic rituals or bondage scenes being performed here at all. _Shame, really._ Harry shook his head.

"What?" Malfoy frowned.

"Nothing, this is nice. Time to pick my own out, though."

Malfoy ushered him out, and Harry noted that the room he'd liked had its own bathroom, while the smaller room across the hall from Malfoy's didn't. However, there was bathroom adjacent, which was also most likely the one Malfoy used. He made a quick decision, visions of being caught unclothed, or catching Malfoy unclothed, dancing through his head.

"I'll take this one."

"Potter, are you insane? This one is tiny- the one down the corridor is much larger and airier, and has a view of the southern grounds."

"I know, I just -" He cast about for a reason to prefer this one, beyond the truth. "I grew up in a closet. It rather made me prefer small spaces." This was about as untrue as it could possibly be - he loved open spaces as a result of having been confined. Exhibit A, his love of flying. He hoped Malfoy wasn't perceptive enough to cotton on. 

"Ah, I'd heard rumors of that. True, then?" Malfoy looked slightly unsettled.

"They're true, but I don't talk about it much. Things are better these days," Harry replied, and realized the truth of it. Things were better than better these days. He actually felt like he had a future, with Voldemort gone and the Dursleys out of his life. And now he had Draco in his life. Yeah, things were looking up.


	3. Chapter 3

After a few days of living with Malfoy, Harry noticed that he was the only one using the bathroom. Surely Malfoy didn't shower at work? Maybe he did it at the gym. But even then, there should at least be a toothbrush or something in the bathroom - and he was human; he had to take a piss once in a while. 

But there was no sign that Malfoy had been in the bathroom, and several more days went by without Harry's dream coming true of being walked in on by Malfoy (or vice versa). He was taking so many showers, his skin was starting to dry out. If he had noticed, Malfoy probably thought he had some sort of compulsive disorder. 

One morning, in exasperation, he blurted out, "Do you even use the bathroom?" 

Malfoy gave him a funny look and said, "I have one en suite, Potter. Why?"

"What? Oh, no reason. Just wanted to make sure I wasn't getting in your way. Good to know." God, he could be such a plebe sometimes. Of course Malfoy would have a bathroom in his quarters. _Well, at least now I won't have to spend so much time in the shower,_ he thought, surreptituously examining his fingertips. _I'm getting all pruny._

* * *

Living with Draco, Harry thought, was an extremely mixed blessing. The end of the war, and losing his unwelcome connection to Voldemort, had allowed him to finally be his true self. He was a happier, funnier and more easygoing person than he had realized. Even so, he found himself laughing more than usual when Draco was around. He felt almost giddy, in fact, whenever the blond man walked into the room. 

Sadly, the counterpart to this was that he felt dejected whenever Draco walked out of the room. He started to see himself as an abandoned pet, whining and moping until their master came back. Luckily, his housemate had a regular schedule so that Harry could plan to be around when he came home from work. They usually hung out for awhile; Draco would sit down and watch whatever movie Harry was watching, or they might have a couple drinks and talk about their respective days. Occasionally he was even successful at convincing Draco to sample his culinary experiments.

However, late at night, Draco would frequently leave the house and come back in the early hours of the morning. He never told Harry that he was leaving or where he was going, never invited him along. Once or twice, he'd heard muffled sounds from Draco's bedroom, and Harry's chest tightened as he thought about the likelihood that he was fucking someone in there. There was no way to ask about it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know, at any rate. 

* * *

"That man is a total ponce," Malfoy drawled. For lack of anything better to do, Harry had started watching Labyrinth, and Malfoy had arrived home in time to see the ballroom scene.

"That man," Harry pointed out indignantly, "is David Bowie." Malfoy gave him a blank look. "David Bowie - Christ, Malfoy, I knew you lived in a pureblood cave -"

"Watch it, you live in that cave with me," Malfoy reminded him warningly.

"Well, yes, but at least I wasn't raised in it - never mind, the point is- David Bowie! He's fantastic! Look, you like that Iggy Pop song, right?"

"Mm?"

"Lust for Life." Oh great, now Harry was blushing. He hid it by turning around and going to the stereo. "You know, the song you did that striptease to. At Nott's-"

"Yes, yes, I remember." Draco sounded annoyed. This was the first time he'd brought that up, wasn't it? It wouldn't do for Draco to think he had an unhealthy obsession with it. "It's a good song."

"Well, Iggy Pop sings that song. He was friends with Bowie, and Bowie produced the album that song is from. Rumor was that he and Bowie were..." He trailed off, not sure that he should go there.

"What? Tell me the rumor, Potter! I'm just dying to know."

"Rumor was that they were lovers." Harry paused for effect. Draco looked over at him. "But it was just a rumor."

"No evidence, just suspicion? Sounds familiar."

Wow. That was the first time Draco had voluntarily, if obliquely, referred to the rumors surrounding his sexuality and the divorce. Harry felt this was the perfect opportunity to either bring things out in the open… or to make sure Draco never talked to him again. He plunged ahead before he could think better of it.

"Was there evidence to be found?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

"I'm very discrete." Draco was still playing his cards close to his chest. 

They watched the movie for a few more minutes, but Harry could tell Draco was growing restless and would soon make his excuses and go to bed. He pressed stop on the player.

"That movie was pretty silly, I'll cop to that, but I've got something I think you'll like. It's kind of hot," he said teasingly as he got up to look for the DVD.

"Hotter than that bloke in the fright wig and baggy breeches?"

Harry snickered. "Yeah, well, it does involve make-up and scary outfits, but..." He looked around - Velvet Goldmine was somewhere in the stack of DVDs next to the high definition tv. 

He found it and popped it in, fast forwarding to the parts with Curt Wild and Brian Slade. "This is a movie about Iggy Pop and David Bowie. Well, sort of. It's more like a fantasy of what it might have been like." 

Now that he thought about it, he sort of resembled the Curt Wild character without the eyeliner and scraggly hair, and Draco, while his lips were thinner and his face more angular, bore a striking resemblance both in feature and figure to Slade. As soon as he'd realized this, the men onscreen started kissing passionately. It seemed to Harry that the room had gone very still all of a sudden.

Harry's throat constricted and he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He was supposed to be gushing over how hot the two men were so that Draco would know that he found men attractive, but how could he when one of them looked so much like Draco and the other so much like himself? His prick decided it was an excellent moment to go stiff, leaving Harry feeling very awkward and exposed.

Draco wasn't saying anything, and Harry feared that maybe he'd pushed things too far, too fast. Did Draco think he was trying to coerce a confession out of him? 

"That bloke, the one in the leather pants - he looks like someone I picked up at a bar once," Draco said, out of the blue. He sounded so matter of fact, it was like he couldn't sense the tension in the room at all.

Harry forced a sunny, unconcerned smile to his face. "Oh really?"

Draco replied, rather bitterly, "Yeah. I guess you heard about that, right? That I pick up guys?"

"Um, yeah. It's not a big deal, you know." He wanted to be able to say, I do too, but it wasn't true. Now he had no idea how to steer this conversation back to the flirty, lighthearted waters where it was supposed to have been.

* * *

Well, this was just not on. Draco had been absent for a week - working late and going out immediately after. He barely said hello to Harry, patiently camped out in the living room, much less bantered with him or told him about his day. 

However, Draco always took the time for a quick shower before leaving the house, as Harry had deduced from the fresh smell he left in his wake on the way out the door. _If he had to use your shower for some reason, you could engineer a surprise walk-in_ , his mind plotted fiendishly. He normally abjured his mind's less ethical plans, but frustration had made him weak. He went for it.

The next day, Harry happened to be doing some research on magical creatures for work and discovered that mackled malaclaws occasionally find their way into the sewer system and up the drains of magical households. They were notoriously vicious and hard to remove, as no one wanted to risk being unlucky for days following a very probable bite. 

Getting one proved to be a bit of a challenge, but he finally found a dealer in Knockturn Alley who didn't ask too many questions. That Harry had disguised himself as a beautiful and scantily clad young woman had probably helped. 

Gingerly releasing the malaclaw into the tub, Harry suffered a brief pang of shame. Was he really reduced to this? _Yes. Yes, I am,_ he admitted to himself.

Late that night, from his post on the couch, he heard the front door slam and another open, down the hall. And then a scream. A moment later, a shaken Malfoy hovered on the edge of Harry's vision. He looked up, blandly.

"You bellowed?" he said, suppressing his glee. God, but Draco looked adorable when flustered. 

"There's a malaclaw in my tub! I don't know what to do! I'd heard that they could crawl up drains, but I thought that only happened to poor people!"

Harry gave up trying to remain poker-faced and let his face split into a grin. "You would, you classist bastard!" he cackled. Draco's class bias had long ago stopped irritating him and now provided a source of endless amusement.

"Help me! What do I do?" Draco demanded, wild-eyed.

"You could Banish it," Harry suggested, knowing full well that the Magical Creatures Protection Act of 1979 prohibited that on pain of a stay at Azkaban. Malfoy looked hopeful. "Oh wait, you can't - that's against the law. Sorry."

"Fuck! I suppose I have to call in a licensed Magical Creature Welfare agent, which could take days! Why me?" He asked the room at large, bitterly.

"Oh relax, Malfoy, it's not the end of the world. Why are you so freaked out? There's a bathroom right across the hall from your room." _In which I'm hoping to catch you naked._

"I know," Malfoy pouted. "It's just… It doesn't have my settings in the showerhead and it won't be the same."

Harry rolled his eyes, hoping he looked completely uninterested in Malfoy's predicament. Malfoy huffed dramatically and stalked off, hopefully to shower in Harry's loo. 

Harry, using his Unspeakable training, tracked Malfoy's magical signature to see where he was. He wasn't picking anything up- Oh! There it was. He must have Banished his clothing to the laundry shute. He was in Harry's bathroom. This was the moment. 

Schooling his face to vague indifference, he approached the bathroom door. He coached himself, _You just need to use the loo, you forgot that Draco might be in here. Innocence and shock, innocence and shock._

As it was, he didn't have to feign the shock, as he opened the door to a sight that nearly blinded him. He knew Draco was sexy - hell, he'd found him attractive for years, and the striptease had only confirmed his suspicions that underneath the robes, Malfoy was built. 

But Malfoy was not just attractive, or built. Malfoy was lovely. Water cascading down his torso, his head thrown back, eyes closed, hands moving in his sleek, wet hair… Harry's eyes followed the course of the water as it sluiced over smooth, lean musculature and down past sculpted hips. Hung, too. He felt the breath leave him in a gust and immediately regretted this whole adventure. This vision was going to torment him. 

His almost guttural exhalation alerted Draco to his presence, and Harry witnessed his first full-body blush. Draco covered his bits and stammered something about being 'occupied' and Harry stammered something else about having forgotten, 'so sorry, leaving now' and slammed the door behind him. 

That had only been sexy up until Draco saw him. He didn't know what he'd been imagining, but it wasn't that. Draco had not been happy to see him. He had neither been 'surprised but secretly aroused' nor 'cool and aristocratically indifferent to nudity'. No, Draco had been horrified. 

Harry realized, to his shame, that Draco was only an exhibitionist when he instigated the show. He felt stupid. Draco was a control freak; of course he would hate to have his image violated like that. Had Harry been studying him or had he not? 

Okay, no more childish pranks. It was time to get serious about this. It was time to find out not just what Draco looked like naked or whether there was physical chemistry. It was time to let Draco know unequivocally that Harry 'swung that way'. 

Except, how to do that? He imagined himself at the breakfast table, looking up from the paper and saying, "By the way, Draco, I'm gay as a maypole, except for when I'm fucking women." Not likely. "I'm mostly straight, but gorgeous pale blond men make my cock hard?" Yeah, right. 

He hadn't revealed his occassional desire for men yet, except to say that he'd made out with a couple boys in school. He supposed it was out of fear that he would admit it, and then Draco would just shrug and say okay, and nothing more would come of it. 

Draco would probably assume that Harry was just trying to put him at his ease about the scandalous accusations in the press during the divorce. Instead of "I'm attracted to guys, hint hint," he'd hear, "I'm going to claim to be vaguely bisexual to make you feel like less of a freak. Freak." 

Well, there was a way to make sure he had no doubts. 

* * *

 

What to eat tonight? Maybe something with sweet potatoes and chickpeas? Harry browsed the shelves of the local market, looking for sale items. He didn't know why he did this; he was loaded and his pay as an Unspeakable was quite good. For some reason, though, he could never bring himself to be free with his money - not for himself, anyway. He would take other people out, no problem. He loved to lavish his money on other people, he just couldn't spend it on himself.

"Need help finding anything?" A deep voice behind Harry startled him. He turned around and was pleasantly surprised to see that the owner of the voice was quite good-looking. 

"Um, no, I think I've got it under control. Thanks, though. You work here?" 

"No, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you." The man smiled at him. Harry smiled back. 

"Any particular reason why?" Harry asked, resting his elbow against the shelf.

"I've noticed you in here before. You're cute," the man said, looking Harry up and down, then smiling a bit wider.

Oh sweet Merlin, the man was flirting with him! This was a golden opportunity. Harry let his eyes follow a similar course over the bloke's body and he said, "Feeling's mutual." He felt the beginnings of a blush color his face. He wasn't normally so brash, but then again he didn't really have anything to lose.

"I'm Stephen," the man replied, extending his hand. 

"Harry," Harry replied, looking for a flicker of recognition of him or his name. "So, Stephen... do you live in Wiltshire?"

"No, I'm visiting from London, here to see a few friends. You?"

"Just moved here. You ever go to Diagon Alley, in London?" This was Harry's quick and dirty method of determining whether someone was a wizard or not. It lacked subtlety, but if the person turned out to be a Muggle, they'd never know the real reason behind the question.

Stephen smirked. Harry liked him already. So, a wizard, then. Good. And judging from that smirk, he knew full well who Harry was.

"I was just about to make dinner at my place, would you like to join me?" Harry asked, heart thumping at the idea that later this evening, Draco might walk in on him and a bloke having a nice romantic dinner. Things would be more… out in the open. Sexual tension would mount. Soon, one morning in the kitchen, the tension would grow too thick and Draco would snap, would pull Harry to him and rip off his trousers and let himself be bent over the kitchen table…

"Harry?" 

"Yes?"

"I said, I can't tonight, but how about we do dinner tomorrow?" 

"Oh! Oh, yeah, right. Yes. Tomorrow it is. Here's the address- owl me and we'll make plans." 

They grinned at each other, and Harry sauntered off to the Apparation point. He was rather pleased with himself.

 

* * *

Draco had clearly been floored that Harry had a date with a bloke, but not in quite the way Harry'd been hoping. It seemed more like he'd been shocked that Harry would bother with dating at all. Sure, he'd said some self-effacing thing about how he himself wasn't brave enough to do more than have one-night stands, but it was obvious that in Draco's world, only the most naïve and Hufflepuffian wasted their time on such trivialities as romance and dating. 

The first date turned out to be a waste of time, because before they could order dinner, Harry was called away for Unspeakable business. He and Stephen made plans to get together the next week at the same restaurant, and then Harry had departed to Headquarters. 

The second date had been an even worse waste of time, because Harry hadn't been able to get his mind off Draco all throughout dinner. He'd had to get himself pretty hammered in order to enjoy Stephen's company at all, in fact. It wasn't that the other man wasn't attractive; to the contrary, he had strong, aristocratic features, a lean body, beautiful eyes and thick wavy hair. 

He was a bit of a loudmouth cretin, but he had a good sense of humor and didn't make too much out of Harry's status as the Man Who Killed Voldemort. It was just that he wasn't… well, snarky enough. He was also, perhaps, too thick about the neck and torso; maybe a shade too hairy. He could have been more blond. But he was fit, and nice, and willing. 

So it was rather disappointing when Harry couldn't get it up for him. It may have had something to do with seeing Draco in the living room, Draco's total disinterest in the fact that Harry had a real-live man-date, and his abrupt announcement that he was 'going out for a nightcap.' Harry wasn't an imbecile - he knew what that meant. Draco was going out to have anonymous sex, because he didn't want to have sex with anyone he knew.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry brooded about Draco's behavior over his coffee the following morning- he could understand why his roommate would be wary of a serious relationship. The split with Astoria had been none too easy on him, and given his history, he probably had trust issues the size of Wales.

Harry sipped his coffee and tried to remember what little Muggle psychology he knew from training, but his train of thought was disturbed by the arrival of an incredibly sexy bloke who leaned against the counter and just stared at him.

"Hello? Can I help you?" Harry did his level best not to sound bitter or threatening. Obviously, this was the person Draco had brought home last night. He'd woken up in the middle of the night and heard sounds emanating from Draco's room that made his stomach clench. The man had skills, whoever he was.

"Woah, back down there, Fido. I'm just on my way out. Know of a good place for coffee?"

Harry was seized with a sudden urge to pump the bloke for information - what did Draco like in bed, what didn't he like, how long did he last, etc. He had no idea if this guy would offer such details, but perhaps if he were chatty and casual enough…

"Sorry, I just haven't had enough caffeine yet this morning," Harry pasted on an insincere grin and dangled his empty coffee cup. "I was going to make more, if you'd like to stick around? It didn't sound like you guys got much sleep last night."

Harry winced after he said this last - it made it sound like he had been eavesdropping! But hopefully now the guy would brag about what they did or something.

The man just laughed at him. Harry scowled and said, "Sorry for offering."

"It's not that. You're just -" The man broke off, chuckling again and shaking his head.

"Damn it, what's so fucking funny?" Harry barked.

"You like him."

"Pardon?" Harry asked, disbelievingly.

"You 'fancy' your roommate. The guy I just fucked."

Harry's head reeled while his stomach churned. _Who is this arsehole?_

"I'm sorry, I'm being rude." The man extended his hand. "Brian Kinney, amateur psychologist and sex god. And you?"

"Harry Potter, martial arts expert and -" He cast around for another threatening Muggle term to describe himself and came up blank. "Whatever. Look, what did you mean by that? Why would you say that?" he asked, in an agony of confusion.

"When I said you want your roommate? I don't see how that requires explanation, but I'll spell it out for you anyway. You, Harry Potter, want to fuck your roommate, Draco… can't remember his last name. It's obvious that you're not happy that I'm here. You also look like you stayed up all night, evidently listening to me pound his ass. I put two and two together and voila! I got four. What a surprise!" After delivering this stinging indictment, he hoisted himself up on the counter like he belonged there and looked smug.

Harry was torn between wanting to beat up this "Brian" person and wanting to get him out of the house as fast as possible, lest Draco overhear all this. The guy was way too insightful - was he even a Muggle at all? Maybe he was a seer. The most sarcastic, annoying, bloody gorgeous seer ever.

"Could you keep it down, please?" Harry pleaded. "Yes, you're right, fine. I want… I want him. You're right. Please, please don't tell him. I'm begging you -"

"You don't have to beg," Brian said disgustedly, waving Harry off. "Have some pride. I'm not telling him, because I'll probably never see him again. I'm headed back to America tomorrow. I've had enough of your shitty weather."

Harry sagged with relief.

"But let me offer you a piece of advice - you'd better grow a pair. A gorgeous man like that -" He gestured with his thumb behind him to where the bedrooms were- "is not going to be on the market for long. You've got to make a move."

"But he's not looking for a boyfriend," Harry whined. "He's done with relationships."

"Bullshit. I know lonely when I see it. That man is lonely. Get him drunk, get him high, seduce him, do a fucking striptease - I don't care what it takes, just do it."

Harry blinked.

"And with that, I bid adieu. So long, Harry Potter. I'll let myself out." Brian walked out, leaving Harry dazed by the bizarrely frank and unexpected pep talk. He should make a move?

 

* * *

 

_Get him drunk, get him high, seduce him, do a fucking striptease…_

Harry racked his brain for weeks, trying to think of a clever scheme to precipitate a striptease. Problem was, all his previous 'clever' schemes had gone awry, askew and afoul. He didn't trust himself to pull another one.

Furthermore, he was starting to doubt whether putting the moves on Draco was such a great idea. Surely after months of living together he should have gotten some clue that his attraction was reciprocated, if in fact it was. Disappointment curdled in Harry's stomach. He had not yet contemplated the possibility that Draco was never going to return his interest. It just hadn't seemed possible: Harry knew that he was attractive, he knew Draco liked him, the living situation was going surprisingly well, they were both gay… Well, Draco was gay, and Harry was versatile.

But if what that Brian person had said was true, if Draco was lonely, then… well, it didn't add up, did it? If Draco was lonely, he had a perfect opportunity sitting right in front of him, one that he had not shown the slightest interest in taking advantage of. Which probably meant that he hadn't the slightest interest in it. Or in Harry.

Maybe Harry just wasn't Draco's type.

Suddenly, getting high seemed like a very good idea.

 

* * *

 

Getting high had been an excellent idea. Harry's mood had improved almost immediately. He put some music on and slumped on the couch. One song reminded him of another, and soon he was blissed out on waves of musical valium. When Draco walked in, he didn't even suffer that annoying jolt of awareness that he usually experienced on hearing his voice. He just smiled and said "Hey there!"

"Hey yourself," Draco said, sounding strangely flat to Harry's ears. Maybe he was lonely and depressed, though he always seemed happy enough in Harry's presence. "Goodnight."

Oh no, Draco wasn't getting away that easily. Harry in far too good of a mood to let Draco wander off and brood, or worse yet to go off to the bars and find some anonymous fuck. Tonight, Harry was going to make Draco see that he could have as much fun staying home. _Get him drunk, get him high_ … The American's words echoed softly in his mind, but he pushed them away.

 

"Come back! I want you to hear this song!" Harry called out after him. He had just cued up one of his favorite party songs- it was impossible not to want to dance to this beat. He grinned at Draco when he walked back in and drawled, "You bellowed?" Draco couldn't even know what that referenced, but he must have thought it was funny when Harry said it because he said it all the time.

"Yeah, listen to this song!" He watched Draco listening, and willed him to like it.

"It's good, isn't it?"

""Yes, actually. If they played music like this at the clubs I'd probably go there to dance instead of … What is it?" Draco asked.

"It's French house music. They're called Daft Punk," Harry replied, feeling himself get lost in the rhythm. He suspected he might be little too high- he couldn't stop his body doing what it wanted to do, so he closed his eyes and started to dance. He could feel Draco's eyes on him and started to get a bit self-conscious.

"Come on, dance, Draco, this is such an amazing..." he broke off, losing himself in the music again. It was so easy to do- he just let his body go because it knew best.

Though his eyes were still closed, he could hear Draco walk over and pour himself a drink. A little thrill went through him- Draco wasn't leaving after all; he was settling in to hang out for awhile. When Draco then turned up the music, Harry thought he might cheer. He opened his eyes for a second, watching Draco begin to respond to the music.

That was good, because Harry wasn't sure he could have looked away if he'd tried. He knew he was a good dancer, but he had nothing on Draco. Where on earth had he learned those moves? Not from the wizarding world... Oh. From all the clubs he went to. He'd probably picked up dozens of men at Louche or Provocateur or Lime Light with that swivel-hipped, languid display.

The song ended, and Draco went to pour himself another shot. _Get him drunk..._

He asked Harry if all Daft Punk was that good, and Harry told him yes, then launched into a stupid story about a dance club he used to go to. After a moment, he managed to stop babbling and asked Draco to play something he liked.

"You know I don't know much Muggle music," he said. Harry rolled his eyes - that was a blatant cover-up. Draco couldn't stand to be less than an expert on something; he either knew it backwards and forwards or he claimed to know nothing at all.

"Come on, what about your iPod?" Did he really think Harry wouldn't remember the hours they'd spent together setting up his computer and iPod library? Then again, maybe that time hadn't meant as much to him.

"It's mostly your stuff. I just put it on shuffle."

"Yeah, but what do you like?" Harry was getting exhausted - he'd been smoking and dancing by himself for a couple hours now. He lay back on the sofa, staring Draco down. It was amusing to watch Draco try to pretend that he didn't love Muggle music. Draco looked away, and Harry knew he'd won.

"I like... okay, how about this one?" Draco walked over to the stereo, fishing the device out of his pocket and depositing it on the dock. He fiddled with it for a second then said, "I like this one a lot. I listen to the album at the gym. It starts off slow but it builds up to this intense climax."

Harry immediately recognized the song and leapt off the couch, all traces of tiredness having vanished. "Oh yeah! Vitalic is brilliant!" He started dancing and saw that Draco was turning towards the kitchen. "Hey, get me a beer, would you?"

Draco laughed at him and told him he wasn't Harry's house-elf, but Harry knew he'd bring him a beer anyway.

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and do it." He grinned at Draco and kept dancing, feeling happier than he had in a long time. The music was so good, and he was thrilled that Draco apparently liked this album as much as he did. Where was Draco, anyway?

The lights suddenly dimmed, and Harry looked around. "Yeah, that's better," he said, approving of Draco's instinct to make the atmosphere more dance-club-like. "Oh, what about this?" he asked, adding multicolored flashing lights, using a spell Seamus had taught him. Now it was like those clubs that Draco went to to pick up men. Only there was just one man here. Harry. He smiled at the thought.

As Draco poured himself yet another drink, Harry told him that he was putting another song on. "What do you want?"

"Don't care, whatever." Draco sipped his drink and looked impassive.

"How about Usher?" Harry had seen Draco listening to this song, one rare day when he had been in living room when Harry had come home- usually, it was the other way around. Draco had been rolling a joint and not only listening to the song, but actually trying to sing along to it.

Draco began to dance, but to Harry's frustration kept his back mostly to the room, meaning that he wasn't watching Harry, not admiring his flash moves. When the Ludacris part started up, Harry was determined to get Draco's attention. He started singing along, knowing he sounded stupid but determined to sell it, anyway. It seemed to be working - Draco had stopped dancing and was staring at him with an indescribable expression on his face.

"Forget the game, I'm 'a spit the truth, won't stop until I get 'em in they birthday suit..."

"Potter!" Draco gasped in the throes of laughter, "Stop! My ears! My eyes!"

"Now bend over to the front and touch your toes," he said as he winked at Draco, to let him know that he was just taking the piss. He wiggled his arse to punctuate the lyric. As long as he could keep Draco's focus on him, he didn't care that he was being laughed at.

"You're ruining a perfectly good song with your antics, Potter," Draco attempted to drawl through his laughter. "You are not an MC for the ages."

"What, you think I don't have mad skills? I'm getting another beer to drown my sorrow," Harry shot back as he walked into the kitchen.

As he pulled a beer from the icebox, the strains of Sexy Boy filtered in from the living room, making his heart leap. This song always, but always, reminded him of Draco. He practically ran into the living room, only to see Draco walking over to change the music.

"Leave it on; I love this song," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. _Get him high._ "Want a joint?"

"Marijuana, Potter? How common," Draco sneered, but reached under the sofa for the ivory box that Harry kept his stash in. Harry laughed and sat on the floor next to Draco's knees.

"You love it and you know it. Give it over." As he reached for the box, his eyes met Draco's for a long, inscrutable moment. He blamed it on being drunk (in Draco's case) and stoned (in his own).

After a certain number of drinks, Draco always wanted to smoke a cigarette in the house. Harry forbade it, more for the satisfaction of seeing how Draco respected his wishes than because he didn't want to live in an ashtray. Draco must have had about four drinks by now, because he was whining about not being able to smoke.

Harry decided to allow the cigarette, relishing the feeling of power over Draco. He finished rolling the joint and took a deep inhale.

As he exhaled the long milky wisp of heavily scented smoke, his eyes fluttered closed, then opened to find Draco taking a rapturous drag on his Gauloise. That was another reason he usually forbade the smoking, he dimly recalled. Watching Draco's mouth wrap around a fag made him think about things best left unthought. Even with all the pot, his dick got half hard just from seeing Draco's thin lips pulling on the cigarette, pursed and needy-looking.

The song ended, and Harry rose to put on another song. _Do a fucking striptease._ A wicked thought crossed Harry's mind, and he was just drug-addled enough to try it.

"I have one I think you'll like," he said over his shoulder, excitement thrumming in his veins. Selecting 'Lust for Life,' he waited a second until the music started, watching for Draco's reaction. Draco just kept smoking, revealing nothing. "This sound familiar to you?" Harry smirked, feeling strangely confrontational. Draco made no response, just looked at him and blew smoke.

Reminding Draco of his striptease at Nott's stag night was Harry's last calculated move - when the music started up, he closed his eyes and just let his libido take the reins. Fuck it - if Draco couldn't take a joke, if Draco couldn't see just why Harry had chosen this song... fuck it. Just fuck it. Harry started dancing, just following the music, imagining that Draco was watching but unwilling to check. _No_ , his pot-fogged brain reminded him, _you don't care if he's watching. Just let yourself go._

It was exhilarating, momentarily living in this fantasy world where Draco was watching him with lust in his eyes, a hard-on in his pants, getting more and more excited as Harry stripped off his shirt, pushed down his jeans... Harry could live here forever.

"Very amusing, Potter," said Draco suddenly in a strangled voice, and Harry's eyes flew open. "But I've got to go to the loo." Harry watched as Draco strode off, obviously affected by the performance. And that didn't look like embarrassment.

Thoughts attempted to race through Harry's mind but were significantly impeded by the amount of THC in his bloodstream. Nevertheless, he was abruptly and giddily certain that Draco had found the striptease arousing.

Harry instantly resolved to take things to the next level, if Draco came back from the bathroom and didn't retreat to his bedroom to avoid awkwardness. He realized that he'd better put some clothes on, though; it seemed like Draco was not quite ready for the naked part of the evening.

He picked up his shirt off the floor and listened to the last beats of the song fade out. Doing up the buttons, he thought about what kind of song to play next. Nothing too overtly erotic or suggestive, but not just another dance song, either. Something playful and upbeat, something that would get Draco dancing without a second thought... A light went on in Harry's head. Digitial Love, by Daft Punk. He'd had fantasies while listening to this song, visions of himself and Draco listening to it together and moving towards each other, moving against each other, declaring their feelings with their bodies...

He went to the stereo to put the song on, and Draco returned, looking flushed and awkward. Harry grinned to himself: could this finally be happening, for real?

The song began, with its ineluctably danceable beat, and Harry let it take him over. His eyelids kept slipping shut, but from beneath his lashes he was able to catch glimpses of Draco getting lost in the music. He allowed himself to drift closer, following Draco's movements. He could almost believe that this was meant to happen, that Draco was feeling what he was feeling, that he wanted Harry to dance with him...

He couldn't stop himself, he didn't want to - all he knew was that with little conscious planning he was all over Draco's body, hands wandering anywhere they pleased, and it felt so fucking good. At last. The surge of blessed relief receded a bit while he attempted to register whether Draco was responding or recoiling - but when Draco twisted in his arms and started grinding against him, it all flooded back.

Harry felt an erection brushing against his thigh and looked down, in awe that the moment had finally arrived. When his eyes met Draco's, he knew that he had been right. This was meant to happen, just like this. The music was soaring triumphantly and he leaned in, a sense of fate fulfilled glowing all around them. It was partially the pot, he knew that, but it was mostly the ineffable softness of Draco's lips, the way he drew closer, pressing into the kiss, opening his mouth so yieldingly; it was everything Harry had dreamed of for so long. It was perfect in every way - but it was not enough.

Their hands were all over each other, and Harry realized that the reason the kisses were so sloppy is that they were both grinning like maniacs while trying to maintain contact between their lips and tongues. He struggled with Draco's trousers and Draco ripped his shirt open and Harry just couldn't take it anymore.

He pulled Draco over to the couch, pushed him down onto it and said in a ragged voice, "'M gonna give you a blow job and then fuck you. Okay?" It was hardly the most romantic phrasing, but the glazed look of approval from Draco told him it didn't matter how inarticulate he was.

Finally he got Draco's fly undone and had yanked the trousers down around his thighs, impatient to get at that cock that turned out to be just as mouthwatering as he'd always envisioned. Standing stiff and rosy and with a smear of precome at the slit, Draco's erection practically demanded to be engulfed, and Harry happily complied with the imagined command. Draco's hips jerked upwards, causing his prick to hit the back of Harry's throat but he didn't care.

He wanted this thick hard flesh in his mouth fourteen times a day from now on - it tasted and felt so good on his tongue, against the insides of his cheeks. He hummed around it and Draco came, crying out inarticulately and it was the first time Harry'd heard or seen him lose control so utterly. But it would not be the last. No, because now Harry was going to fuck his arse until he not only forgot the name of every other man he'd ever been with, but the existence of other men entirely.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry made a guttural noise of approval when he got Draco's pants all the way down. This was a view he hadn't gotten during that awful shower-peeping episode. Full, muscular buttocks, sheathed in baby-smooth pale skin, slightly flushed from the friction of having his trousers dragged off so quickly. Draco had no sooner draped himself over the arm of the sofa than Harry had whipped off his jeans and dropped to his knees to part those cheeks. Rimming wasn't something he'd ever done before, but he had fantasized a million times what it would be like to have Draco's arsehole dancing on the tip of his tongue. 

Had an arsehole ever looked so sweet? His pot-dry mouth moistened at the sight. He leaned in, inhaling a musky scent that surprised him by ratcheting up his arousal even higher. His tongue made contact and he lost himself in the delirium of drawing responses from Draco; beautiful, physical and audible responses that made his cock ache.

It was too much for him. Before he knew what had happened, his magic uncoiled and performed a wandless lubrication charm almost without his own volition. Following his obvious need, he rose up and let his cock bump against the spasming hole of Draco's arse. God, it felt like heaven, touching him like this. Tears formed in his eyes as he gently applied the smallest amount of pressure and felt the head of his cock opening up the body of the man underneath him.

The sensation had him entering Draco more quickly than he'd meant to - he had wanted to savor the moment of penetration, but his body was dictating his movements with a eagerness that he couldn't deny. He tried to slow down, but Draco cried out and the sound broke what tiny reserve Harry had left. He let go into a wild rhythm that he could see echoed in the firm flesh of Draco's arse, the way his hair bounced against his shoulders. 

He was so lost in the animal pleasure of taking what he'd wanted for so long that Draco's silence took awhile to register. When it finally did, Harry felt his stomach drop and his erection flag - was he hurting Draco? He wasn't enjoying it? Oh god, what was he doing? He leaned down to brush the hair from Draco's eyes, and saw that they were closed. Had he - he hadn't passed out, had he? 

Harry's cock deflated entirely as the implications of this situation settled in. Draco had been so unimpressed with Harry's performance that he'd fallen asleep. A sick feeling washed over him as he remembered the noises that had emanated from Draco's room while Brian had plundered him, noises that went on and on. And on. Until Harry had half-wished for some wax to block the siren song. 

He drew back from Draco's body, disappointment and self-hatred trickling through his gut.

Well, he couldn't exactly leave Draco where he was. His heart clenched at the sight of the man, debauched and limp against the arm of the sofa. Gathering long limbs in his arms, he lifted Draco up and carried him towards the bedrooms, stumbling against a side table but then making steady progress down the hall.

He used his shoulder to push open the door to his room and as gently as possible lowered him to the bed. His pale hair tumbled appealingly against the pillow and Harry thought his heart might break at the beauty of this man, and the knowledge that he hadn't been good enough. In fact, had probably wrecked everything. 

Draco shifted on bed, turning his face towards Harry, one arm flung out over the edge of the bed. "I love you," Harry murmured. The words spilled from his lips without his conscious volition, and he was horrified to see Draco's eyes flutter, and then open. He rolled onto his back and that was when Harry saw the erection. He was still hard! He was still awake! This could be salvaged after all! He didn't have time to worry about whether Draco had heard him, he needed to prove his sexual prowess post haste.

Harry knelt on the bed and leaned over to take Draco's cock in his mouth. He wrapped his hand around the base and stroked up and down while his mouth sucked the head of Draco's warm, living member. He glanced up to see that Draco's eyes had drifted shut, and his heart jerked against his ribcage. He decided not to ascertain whether the closed eyes were due to bliss or blacking out and just let himself taste and feel the cock he'd dreamt of for years. His other hand moved down to his own still-unsatiated cock.

He had taken Draco's cock about as deeply as he could and was humping into his own hand frantically when he felt the telltale signs of impending orgasm from Draco's body. Elation spread through his veins and he ejaculated all over the bedspread and Draco's thigh. He looked up beatifically at Draco.

He was still passed out. 

Harry flopped over to lie at Draco's side, too tired and emotionally drained to consider the near certainty that he'd just taken advantage of a sleeping man. A sleeping man who'd probably only acquiesced to being fucked because he was fucked up. Harry curled up against Draco, fatigue overtaking him. His last thought was that this might very well be the only time he'd get to fall asleep next to the man he was in love with.

 

***** *****

Green eyes opened blearily to an empty bed. Harry rose up and looked around the room, head aching. Of course it was empty, it always was. No, wait. Oh, god. Oh no. The events of the night before crashed down on Harry with a bewildering impact. How was he going to face Draco after this? He hadn't even stayed the night. 

He hadn't even woken up. 

The only positive aspect to any of this was that it was just possible that Draco would not remember what had happened. Harry clung to that.

He needed to cling to some coffee right now, too. So, heart pounding madly, he carefully trod to the kitchen and forced his hands to remember how to make coffee. After he did that, and after an epic search through the cabinets for the hangover potion, he sat at the table and barely blinked when the owl came in with the paper. His mind remained blessedly and absolutely blank. He knew it would be painful when he was finally able to process the disaster he'd made of last night, but for now he was happy enough to sit in his hungover daze. 

Eventually, the smell of coffee was too alluring and he poured himself a cup. He sipped. He waited. Twenty minutes later he admitted to himself that he was waiting for Draco to come in. But Draco - how much had he drank last night? More than a lot. A lot a lot. Who even knew when he would stagger in? Or even whether he would? Harry had half a mind to go check on him. He took another sip of his by now cold coffee and grimaced at he unfolded the paper. He heard Draco's feet down the hall and his mind chose that moment to leap into frenzied action. 

Sadly, his mind was doing the mental equivalent of running around in frantic circles and gibbering. He felt Draco enter the kitchen but he couldn't bring himself to look up. Draco said nothing, just walked towards the coffeemaker. Harry struggled vainly to think what he should say, but silence reigned while the other man prepared his coffee. He had just about decided that he should ask how Draco felt when Draco muttered, "Thanks for making coffee,' and left the kitchen, coffee in hand. 

Harry leapt out of his chair, nearly reeled at the way the sudden change in elevation made his head pound, and followed Draco out of the kitchen, only to see his door slam shut. With finality. 

***** *****

Three days had gone by, and Draco still hadn't spoken to Harry. Well, that wasn't strictly true. He had spoken to thank him for making coffee, twice. He had spoken to tell Harry he was going out. He had perfunctorily greeted Harry on his way to his after-work shower. He had replied "Fine, thanks," when Harry asked how he was. 

But obviously Draco was forcing himself to be polite, or as polite as he could be under the circumstances. What exactly Draco thought the circumstances were was still up for debate, but Harry was pretty sure it boiled down to Draco being mortified that he'd allowed someone as inept as himself anywhere near that gorgeous arse. It was clear that, plowed though he had been, enough of that fateful evening's events remained in Draco's mind and that he regretted it. Regretted it to point of not being able to acknowledge it. Harry's blood ran cold every time he replayed those words in his head. "I love you." Those wordsï¿½ yes! That was the problem. 

Well, he just needed to explain to Draco that those words were a bit premature. Inaccurate, even. He had just been momentarily overcome by Draco's beauty, that was all. Surely that would stroke Draco's vanity and still excuse his humiliating outburst. 

The problem was finding the right moment to say something. Such opportunities were difficult to envision even in theory, much less detect in real life. In real life, Draco was giving Harry the coldest shoulder he'd ever experienced. Even in school, Draco had been warmer to him. True, it was the heat of hate, but at least it was something. Now he was getting nothing, and brave though he was usually considered to be, he couldn't screw his courage to the sticking point. 

As it turned out, the decision to bring up that fateful night was taken out of Harry's hands when Draco walked stiffly up to where he was sitting on the couch and bit out "Hey," in a tone that suggested he was engaging reluctantly in a distasteful task.

Harry looked up at where Draco loomed over him, not quite meeting his eyes. "What's up?" he managed.

"So, what was that, the other night?"

Harry's heart clanked to a halt. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving it frozen and immobile. "I don't know," he hedged, desperation to avoid the conversation thrumming through his veins. "What did you think it was?" 

"I think we had sex," Draco bit out. The _And I regret it immeasurably_ , Harry thought, was nearly audible but politely left unsaid.

He attempted a smile, hoping that if he took this blow with equanimity, Draco would never suspect his real feelings on the subject. "Yes. We had sex," he confirmed.

"Was that all it was?" Draco's voice had rarely sounded so icy.

 _Oh shit - oh shit!_ He had heard Harry's breathless confession of love. _Fuck!_

"What do you mean?" Harry stalled, barely keeping his head together.

"Was it something more to you?" There could be no doubt now, Draco had heard those three thrice-damned words and was disgusted by them. There was no way Harry could look at Draco, ever again. Anger and hurt surged through him.

"You afraid the ickle Gryffindor is going to start having messy emotions all over you? Don't concern yourself, Draco. It was just sex." Oh god, he was going to throw up.

"Right then. Good. I'm glad we cleared that up." Draco said. "Well. I'm for bed."

"Me too." Harry rose from the couch and stalked off. Shock blanked his conscious thoughts, but he was dimly aware of the disaster that had just taken place. He would simply have to move out.

 

***** *****

"Hey, Luna?" 

"Hi, Harry!" Luna cried out happily. "Oh, wait a minute, I'm -" There was a squawking noise in the background, followed by a couple of muffled thumps. Luna returned to the floo, looking out of breath. "Sorry, you know how Gruntbugglies can be." She laughed a trilling little laugh, then abruptly turned serious. "Anyway, what can I do for you? Are you looking for a magical pet, finally? I've always told you, an owl is more of a tool than a pet, you can't really bond with them, but a snufflar or a dandywiggum would really improve your quality of life."

"No, no, Luna, that's not it," Harry cut her off in mid-sell. She was always trying to get him to buy a magical pet, usually one that sounded completely made-up. "Can I come through?"

"Of course, Harry. You're always welcome here," Luna said. Harry stepped through the Floo and into Luna's cluttered living room. 

"I need a place to stay," he said, staring at the floor.

"Oh no! What happened to Draco? I thought you two were well on your way to being penguins!"

"What?" Harry asked, wondering in what possible way he and Draco were apparently transforming into polar waterfowl.

"You know. They mate for life."

"We aren't- I mean, how did you... it's not like that. Wait a second... how did you know?"

"That you are meant for each other?" She asked, absently. "I thought it was obvious." 

"Oh Luna," Harry said, sitting down heavily on her futon, "I wish it were true."

"Harry, tell me what happened. Perhaps I can make sense of it."

Harry very nearly laughed at the idea of Luna making sense of anything, and then realized that actually she was one of his most insightful, if very very strange, friends. 

"I moved in, you know that. Right. Well, yeah. And then I fell for him." Harry paused dramatically, waiting for the shocked expression that would follow.

Luna made a sort of hmming sound.

"What?" 

"Oh nothing. I just thought you knew that you liked him long before that. It's okay if you didn't... sometimes people can't see what's in front of them."

Harry stared, in awe of his friend. How had she known?

"Yeah, okay. You're right, actually. I liked him. Long before I moved in. He's... he's something special. Well, anyway. There was this night, we got drunk and high and started kissing and then I fucked him and he passed out. But I think he heard me say..." Harry trailed off, unwilling to admit what it was that he'd said.

"That you loved him?" Luna asked softly.

Harry sighed, long and gustily. "Yeah," he added. 

"Well, Draco might not be used to declarations of love. When I was at the Manor, his family didn't seem very affectionate to me. Maybe he's just in shock."

"More like horrified."

"Well, since Dad passed away, it's been pretty lonely here. If you want to come stay here, I would love to have you. What are friends for?" Luna's smile was rare, but quite lovely. Harry smiled in return and was grateful to have such a good friend in his life. Even if her insightfulness bordered on creepy at times.

The next day, he told Draco that he was moving out.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco had taken the news about Harry moving out without batting an eyelash, which confirmed for Harry that it was the right choice- no, the only choice. He contemplated moving his few belongings with a feeling of defeat. He’d worked so hard to worm his way into Draco’s life, he had waited so patiently for the right moment to test the waters. But the waters had turned out to contain sharks. Hungry ones out for blood. It was time to concede the turf.

 _Shit. Better start packing_. At least that would give him some breathing space before he had to walk out and leave Draco's domain.

Except that Harry actually hadn't brought much of anything to pack up. Draco's house was so well-appointed and provisioned, all Harry had needed was his clothes and some valuable commemorative Quidditch pint glasses. He trudged to his bedroom with a conjured box and began morosely junking his wardrobe in it. He tried to go slowly, but it just didn’t take that long to get his stuff rounded up. Within an hour and a half, he was done.

Harry lingered, though. He wanted to see Draco one last time, see if there wasn’t some glimmer of emotion he could glean from that cold face. Hadn’t they had fun together? He had thought that, even if the romance wasn’t going to pan out, at the very least they’d become friends. 

But no. _I love you._ Those three words, not to mention Harry’s obviously inept sexual fumblings, had killed any chance of even friendship. All gone. Time for him to be gone, too. 

***

Living with Luna had a salutary effect on Harry, insofar as Luna was so out of touch with reality that Harry perforce had to make up for it by getting extremely realistic. He had been acting extraordinarily selfishly. Draco wasn’t in the market for more sex - Draco got as much sex as he needed, any time he wanted it. Harry had fucked up by trying to push their - whatever it was - much too fast. He felt sick to his stomach. And maybe “whatever it was” was entirely a mistake, and not at all what Draco wanted, no matter how fast or slow Harry pursued it.

That Brian fellow had opened Harry’s eyes to Draco’s loneliness, and Harry had interpreted that to mean the thing that he most wanted it to mean- that Draco needed and wanted a boyfriend. But that didn’t seem to be the case. Now that Harry had some time to think, and his mind wasn’t addled with Draco’s persistent presence, he realized how ridiculous he’d been. Draco preferred casual, anonymous sex. He wasn’t looking for love. 

Clearly, what Draco needed, and what Harry was good at being, was a friend. And if that meant that Harry didn’t get his rocks off, then so what? Either he could learn to sate his physical needs the way Draco did (unlikely, but possible) or he could just take one for the team for now. 

Basically, Harry needed to be around Draco more than he needed to fuck Draco, and he would have to find a way to let him know that. 

But goddamn, did he still want Draco. He didn’t really know what to do about that. He had been enjoying his persistent fantasies about intimacy with his roommate but he knew that if his sanity were to survive a purely platonic friendship with Draco, he would need to stop having them. His heart clenched as his cock throbbed. _Just one more time_ , he thought sadly.

He got himself comfortable on his bed and allowed himself to resurrect his longest-held, favorite fantasy about hooking up with Draco. 

Harry is lying on the couch in the living room, eyes closed, fly open, hand moving slowly over his cock, thoughts of his roommate drifting through his head. When the door opens - Draco's come home early. Harry keeps his eyes closed and stills his hand, knowing it's too late to cover up and waiting anxiously for the reaction.

He can hear that Draco has stopped short but he doesn’t say anything right away. After a weighted silence he says “Don’t stop on my account,” and Harry hears him move to a chair and sit down. Still keeping his eyes shut, Harry moves his hand again, stroking his cock lightly, rubbing the head with his palm and sighing a tiny huff of pleasure. 

He hears the squeaking of Draco shifting in his chair and a slight, crooked smile forms on his lips. He arches his hips off the couch and grasps tighter, making himself moan. His fist sets a moderate pace and he feels his chest and neck flush.

The air near the couch is disturbed by displacement and that is all the warning he gets before he feels a hand still his own. His eyes open to find Draco staring down at him, eyes dark with arousal. “Need any help with that?” Harry can do nothing but nod, and Draco gently removes Harry’s hand from his cock and replaces it with his own. He lowers himself to his knees next to the couch and takes the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth. Harry’s heart is racing and he throws back his head in ecstasy at the silken feel of Draco’s tongue on him. Draco moans around the head of his cock and Harry looks down to find himself locked in Draco’s heated gaze. 

At this point in the fantasy, Harry had already come and lay there thinking how much he would have loved to know what it felt like to have his cock in Draco’s mouth. And now it looked like he wouldn’t ever find out. 

***

 

“Luna?” Harry peered into the garishly-decorated sitting room, gingerly holding a potion bottle and hoping that Luna wouldn’t be offended by his planned request.

“Yes, Harry?” She wandered in the from the kitchen, feeding an invisible creature some leftover doner kebab, while a very visible parakeet nested in her bun. 

“Um, I have a favor to ask and I feel bad about asking, but if I could figure out any other way to do this then I wouldn’t-”

Luna interrupted by holding out her hand for the bottle. Harry sheepishly proffered it. She put down the invisible creature, stuck the doner kabab in her mouth and twisted open the top, inhaling.

“Olychoose?” She inquired around the kebab.

“Yeah,” Harry said, face flaming. “Could you?” He knew he didn’t need to explain further. In some ways, Luna was quicker on the uptake than even Hermione.

“Do you have one of his hairs?” She asked, offering the kebab to the parakeet, who graciously accepted a nibble.

Harry nodded and pulled out a sweater- one that he had surreptitiously taken from Draco when he packed his things. He hadn’t taken it with the idea of using it to procure hairs - actually, he’d taken it to remember Draco’s smell by. His stomach turned over in reaction to how grotesquely smitten he was. 

“Harry, I should point out that I’m gay and while you’re very attractive, I won’t have sex with you,” Luna said, blithely.

“Oh my - GOD, no,” Harry stuttered. “That’s not - oh my god!” 

“So why did you want me to polyjuice into Draco?” Luna asked absently, again seeming more concerned with the two creatures she was feeding.

“Um, because if I’m just going to be friends with Draco, I need to get used to being around him without being attracted to him or trying to get in his pants,” he explained, hoping it didn’t sound bizarre. 

“Oh, that makes perfect sense. I think it’s stupid, but it makes perfect sense,” she replied.

“Wha- stupid?” Harry asked, stupidly.

“Well, if you think you’re going to train yourself not to love him, then I think you’re tilting at Erumpent horns,” Luna said, “But it’s sweet that you want to do something so impossible. Hand me the hair.”

“Thank you, Luna!” Harry exclaimed, handing over a white-blond hair and ignoring the fact that she’d told him he was stupid. Luna being Luna, she hadn’t meant anything negative by it.

Luna dropped the hair in the potion and swirled it around a bit. Then she upended the bottle into her mouth without even a grimace. “Mmm,” she said. “Vile but piquant. Kind of like earwax.” 

Harry was agog at her apparent enjoyment of one of the more disgusting potions known to wizardom, but he was quickly distracted by the bubbling, stretching, pulling thing Luna’s body was doing. In short order, Draco Malfoy stood before him, wearing a colorful caftan, with a parakeet on his shoulder. “Should I change into something of yours?” Luna asked in Draco’s silky tenor.

“Um, no… this is weird enough without putting you in my shitty clothes. Thanks, Luna… erm, Draco. Okay, I’m going to pretend that you’re him, okay?” He babbled.

“Go right ahead, Potter,” Luna drawled. _Holy shit! That was eerily accurate!_

“So… how’ve you been?” Harry said, feeling as stupid as Luna had said he was.

“I’ve been fine, Potter. And you?”

Harry stared at Luna/Draco and tried to assess how he felt. He felt… odd. On the one hand, there was Draco, right there - wearing a caftan, true, but otherwise looking and sounding very much like himself. Harry consulted his cock - anything happening down there? Not so far. Oops - well, now that he was paying attention, Mr. Trouser Snake was perking up. _Down, boy! Draco is just your friend! And it's not even Draco, anyway!_

After a bit of trial and error (or trial and erection) Harry found that if he didn’t quite look in “Draco’s” eyes or focus on any of “his” body parts too closely, he could do just fine. As long as he also wasn’t quite tuned into his sultry posh voice either. How hard could it be to just sort of not look and sort of not listen? They’d be great friends in no time!

***

Luna was a saint to put up with Harry's bizarre ideas (of course, on the other hand, he was also a saint to put up with her ideas), and he thanked her profusely for spending time with him as Draco. They’d had four awkward sessions, trying to playact that Luna was Draco and that Harry wasn’t sexually attracted to Draco. It kind of worked (he didn’t even get an erection the third and fourth time!), but mostly it just made Harry realize how much he missed Draco. 

He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him around the Ministry, which wasn’t terribly odd because they rarely ran into each other. Before they’d lived together, they’d scarcely seen each other from one year to the next. Harry hadn’t even spoken to him since that morning that he’d announced he was moving out. It was time for Harry to test the success of his training sessions, to see if he was ready to just be friends with Draco. But where to find him?

***

Getting Nott to divulge where Draco was had been impossible. Fucking Slytherins. They only gave information if they got something in return, and Harry had nothing that Nott wanted. However, Nott had let slip that Draco would be back within the week, which made Harry’s heart leap in a most non-platonic way. 

Now, finding Draco was a familiar pastime for Harry, and he honestly found himself looking forward to a spot of stalking. The last time he’d done it was - well, not that long ago, actually, but he supposed 8 months was a decent hiatus for stalking behavior. _This time it’s not even based on sexual attraction,_ he reminded himself as he started to feel a bit queasy. _And it’s not really stalking anyway, it’s just hanging about in case an old friend shows up. But… hanging about, where?_

He couldn’t hang around the coach house where they’d lived together, that would just be creepy. _As opposed to stalking him in public?_ His mind mildly inquired. He realized he would just have to make the rounds of the places he knew that Draco went - the coffee shop, the gourmet grocery, the antique bookseller's, etc. 

After a week of this with no luck, Harry was starting to go spare. He just wanted to see Draco, damn it. It didn’t even matter if he talked to him. In fact, given how worked up he was, it was probably a good idea if he didn’t talk to him right away. He needed to see the real Draco, get an idea for how well the operant conditioning had worked (Luna’s term, not his), and take it from there. Cautiously. 

He was desultorily scanning the shelves at the gourmet grocer’s ( _dear Lord, twelve pounds for a jar of olives?_ ) and going through his litany of reasons why friendship with Draco was a tolerable alternative to fucking him when he caught a glimpse of white-blond hair out of the corner of his eye. His head turned on its own accord and he saw Draco, back turned to him, hesitantly reaching for a tomato as though he was unsure whether it might bite him. Without his conscious volition, he found himself standing right behind his target, breath caught in his throat. He quickly scanned his racing mind for sexual thoughts. None. _Huzzah! Operation Friendship: Go!_

“Hi, Draco. You’re looking well,” Harry said, mentally smacking himself for immediately referring to his physical appearance. 

Draco turned around and looked stunned to see his recently-ex-roommate, but coolly replied, “Thanks. Went to Greece.” 

“It agreed with you,” Harry automatically said, because it was true. Draco looked fantastic - sun-kissed, dewy, glowing. Edible.

Draco barely replied, and Harry realized he needed to make a clear bid for his attention. He took a deep breath.

“I was wondering if -” He broke off, the scent of Draco’s skin suddenly in his nose and working its way into his bloodstream. He stepped back. He was too close to Draco, his body was reacting. _Abort mission._ “Um, never mind,” he mumbled. “See you later-” he started to move away towards the door, head swimming.

“No, what?” Draco broke in, and Harry almost wept with relief that he had been interrupted. Leaving Draco right now was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. 

“Well,” Harry extemporized. He hadn’t really been wondering anything other than what he always wondered, but “I wondered if you might actually have feelings for me the way I feel about you, which is that I want to drown in your eyes and touch your body all over and just stay with you forever” was clearly out of bounds. “I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me. Sometime. Doesn’t have to be tonight.” There! That sounded great! Casual, if a big awkward and halting. 

“I’m not doing anything special,” Draco said, though he didn’t really look happy about not having better plans. 

“Good. Well,” Harry replied, feeling off-kilter. “There’s a place around the corner-”

“I know, that’s where I ran into you the night -” he stopped himself, but Harry heard the continuation in his mind. _The night you took advantage of my drunken, desperate state and forced yourself into my household, and then onto my person, which series of events I greatly regret._

“Yeah, right.” Harry faltered, then realized why Draco was shopping at the grocer's. He was hungry. Because he didn’t cook and Harry wasn’t there to cook for him. “Well, they do a good fish and chips,” he said, hoping to find any kind of hook to make his proposition attractive. Draco was frowning. Friends didn’t frown at friends. _Quick! Make him laugh, like you did on the night you convinced him to let you move in! He loves it when you take the piss._

“I realize that’s not up to your usual standards, but even a helpless aristocrat has to eat, right? It’ll save you from whatever tomato-flavoured disaster you were contemplating.”

Draco half-smiled and was clearly suppressing a chuckle. “Don’t do snarky, Harry. It doesn’t suit you.” Harry’s heart soared and he laughed out loud - he knew Draco actually enjoyed his clumsy attempts at snark. Things weren’t quite back to normal, but they could definitely do this friends thing.

 

***

At the pub, they continued to banter and it felt wonderful. Harry felt dangerously happy, but so far he had only physically reacted to Draco that once, when he’d gotten too close to him. If he just kept his distance, he would be just fine. Problem was, when Draco invited him to inspect his so-called tan (which it definitely wasn’t, Draco’s gorgeous skin would never do something as common as tan), he leaned a little too far over the table and smelled Draco’s distinctive scent again. It wasn’t cologne. He wasn’t sure what it was. But whatever it was, it went directly to his cock. The world froze for a moment. He tried to cover the awkwardness with a couple of broad jokes at Draco’s expense, and it seemed to work. He went to the bar for more drinks, feeling like he was in definite peril but so relieved to be in Draco’s presence that he didn’t even care that the other man didn’t desire him.

When he got back to their table, though, Draco was gone. _What the hell?_ What had he done? Had he given himself away somehow? He looked wildly around the room, his gaze just catching the loo door closing on someone. Without further thought, he strode to the loo and barged inside.

Draco was at the counter, his face damp, a few strands of wet hair framing his pale face. Harry, heart hammering madly, made a feeble joke about Draco having done a runner on him. Draco turned to him and swept his hair back with an elegant hand. 

“And you were so worried you followed me into the gents?” He asked, a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. “Ever hear of a little thing called separation anxiety, Harry?”

Harry felt like his face was in imminent danger of bursting into flame, but he realized Draco was just being playful and he leapt into the fray. “Yes, it’s quite natural for orphans to follow people around like lost puppies,” he said, smirking. He had this under control. But he still needed to explain what he was doing in the gents. His mind helpfully reminded him of a spliff he had in shirt pocket. 

“Also, I hear substance abuse problems are rampant, “ he said as he dangled it in front of Draco’s face. _Friends get high in the loos together, right?_

“Oh, you naughty boy,” Draco drawled. His voice was pitched low and the sound of it not only slid into Harry’s ear like an explicit lyric - it felt like it actually slithered into his pants. He distracted himself by lighting the spliff and taking a deep drag. _There, take that, cock. I’m going to get too high to have to worry about you anymore_. He handed the joint to Draco, which was when he realized his terrible mistake. 

Draco wrapped his lips around the narrow end of the joint and Harry nearly came in his jeans. Draco’s lips looked so erotic like that - pursed up like he was about to blow a warm jet of air over someone’s erogenous zones. His eyes met Harry’s and Harry felt his control actually snap. Draco’s gaze held a heat that Harry hoped he wasn’t imagining as he just fell on Draco’s neck, breathing in that intoxicating scent and groping for his arse and telling his best intentions to go fuck themselves.

“Draco, I want-” He cut himself off, because if he kept going he would spill it all. In lieu of continuing, he licked Draco’s ear and groped his arse and sweet Merlin Draco was groping him return, hallelujah, and then they were kissing. Draco’s tongue slid against his. He pulled back slightly, nipping at Harry’s lips before attacking his neck and grinding his erection into Harry’s own. 

Harry groaned and went for Draco’s crotch, fumbling his way into the waistband of his trousers by instinct and pure need. Draco made a noise - of encouragement? Of protest? And Harry suddenly came back to himself, remembering all his resolutions and his resolve to be Draco’s friend, damn it all to hell.

“I’m so sorry, sorry-” he muttered, snatching back his hand and staring at the tiled floor. 

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Draco said, but he didn’t sound fine. He sounded pissed off. Had Harry really just molested him with no provocation? _Well,_ intoned his mind hollowly, _there might have been provocation, but there had been no invitation._

“It’s just that- I know this isn’t what you want from me.” Harry continued to talk to the tile, since it was less likely to make his heart ache. 

“What, kissing? I was okay with that.” 

_Oh my god, could this man please be less ideal?_ Now he was being kind, trying to go easy on his stupid erstwhile roommate, trying to spare his feelings. _Fuck my life._

“No, I- maybe you want kissing. I do, too.” He steeled himself to say the awful thing, one more time - just to make sure. Just to make sure. “But I want more than - God, wish I had known when I moved in what you would do to me. I mean, I know you don’t want all this sappy stuff. Emotions. A relationship.” 

“What on earth are you talking about? What I would do to you?”

 _Please, don’t make me spell it out_. “How much you’d turn me on.” He took a deep breath and MY GOD, did Draco have a pheromone mist around him? This was torture. “How much I’d like hanging out with you. I do. I really, really do. I’m sorry, I thought I could keep it casual but I wanted it so much and then after that night - we had sex and I told I was in love with you and you… you didn’t do anything. You didn’t respond and you didn’t make another move and I was just going crazy, I thought you hated me, or regretted it, or that I was terrible at sex or something…” he trailed off, his face burning hot and his eyes starting to water. He wished the earth would open and take him to Hades. Anything would be better than this.

“What?” Draco was staring at him.

“Draco - what-” Harry began, afraid Draco would make him repeat any of that excruciating confession, but he was prevented from continuing by the sudden introduction of Draco’s tongue in his mouth. He went with it, though it was disorienting as all hell. Or heaven. Definitely heaven.

He felt Draco’s hands clutching his arse as Draco’s tongue continued to plunder his mouth and his cock created the most amazing friction against Harry’s, so good that he thought he might come on the spot. 

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” he whispered against Harry’s lips. 

Heaven was a real place, and it looked just like a pub loo.

 

The End

A/N: For anyone who followed this story when it was originally written, thank you for your patience. This final chapter has been on hold for literally nine years. Sorry it took so long. I know it wasn’t exactly worth the wait, but I’m glad for my own sake that I finally finished it.


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